


An End to Mourning

by Daegaer



Category: Christian Bible (New Testament)
Genre: 1st Century CE, Gen, Post-Easter, Roman era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-04
Updated: 2006-04-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:04:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas will not be consoled by fables.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An End to Mourning

When the men had cautiously crept back into the city and hid in the house they had rented for Passover they were missing three of their number. Their master was dead, and Judas had not been seen since that night. The other was Thomas, who saw little use in joining in his friends' ceaseless rounds of apportioning blame and wondering how things could have gone differently if they had only entered Jerusalem on a different day, if they had only seen what Judas would do, if only, if only, if only. Thomas instead sat on the floor in a room he had given the last of his money to rent, and tore his clothes and fasted a full week. His friends broke in on his mourning with happy faces, laughing that they had seen their master alive and well.

"Get up," Peter said. "The time for mourning is over."

"Who saw him first?" Thomas said, his voice hoarse with tears.

"Me," Peter and John said as one.

Thomas turned from them. "Even parents consoling a small child would take better care with their stories. Where is he? Show me his hands, let me touch the spear wound if you want to be convincing. Leave me alone."

He ignored them then, and after some time they gave up and let him be. John paused at the door.

"It was Mary," he said at last. "She saw him first."

Thomas sat in silence till he finally left.

When the week was over his friends came back and took him forcibly to their house, telling him he had to eat. They gave him bread soaked in milk and soft, childish foods that would not make his stomach rebel. When he had eaten and rested a little he closed his eyes against the bright lamps someone had extravagantly lit.

"Are you feeling better now, Thomas?"

It was a voice he had never thought to hear again. He jumped up, looking round to see his master, looking straight at him in the suddenly bright room.

"See?" he said, indicating his side with one bloodied, wounded hand. "Here, give me your hand --"

Thomas dropped to his knees, crying, "My father! My father! The chariots and horsemen of Israel!"

"Oh, I'm not him," his master said, and smiled. "I'm something _different_."

And Thomas's mourning was over at last.


End file.
